


Scaepwich

by Hideyori



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dark Ages, Dark Fantasy, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hideyori/pseuds/Hideyori





	Scaepwich

As I climb the rough wooden ladder up I wonder what the guards think when I stand on the walls and look west toward the sea. Do they think I am watching for ships or invaders? Or do they think that I am just becoming a wistful old man looking out toward his past so he can at least re-live his glory days in his own mind?  
I do look West almost exclusively so the truth is probably a mix of both if I am being honest with myself. It is the one place people leave me alone long enough to work my thoughts around whatever is bothering me. Tonight it is cold and dreary but I can smell the warmer air ready to make its yearly way back to this land. In another four weeks or so spring will be starting and patrols will need to go out to make sure all the surrounding farmsteads survived the winter. It gives the younger warriors something to do after being inside for three months.  
The wooden palisade is solid as I lean against the top of the wall and gaze over the edge noting that the ditch needs clearing of the vines that stubbornly grow there. I had the walls made twice the height of a man and yet I sometimes think I should have gone three times the height. It surrounds the village but some people have built outside the walls since there is no more space inside. There are three full sized gates built to my design facing East, West, and South. On the Northside is just a small door, barely tall enough for a person to pass through even while bent over. The Dwarven Door it is called and there is truth in that name.  
There are a couple of youngsters out in the field, practicing with sword and shield. Seeing them go through the sword patterns makes me remember the first time I rode out on a spring ranging. My father presented me with a sword and a coat of mail, declaring that I was proficient enough not to cut myself while riding a horse. Mother did not come out to see me for fear of shaming with her tears. Oh how proud and sure of myself I was. I think back and realize how lucky I was to live through my own naivety.  
Under my arm is tucked a worn leather book. Lord Marius, my grandfather’s father, played the biggest part in my surviving the travels of my youth. He died many years before I was born but he left behind his writings. He was a good writer and the child that I was soaked up his histories of the falling Empire like the fairy tale everyone thought they were. I still read that aging tome even though I have committed all the words to memory. The great battles of the civil war, the horrific Malg, and finally leading his family and friends across the mountains to escape the chaos of the old lands. They all seemed fanciful until I went there and saw the wonders that had fallen into disuse and decay.  
It is hard for me to believe how in just two generations people decided the Malg were fanciful tales and the reality was just that the land could no longer support teeso they moved on. However, that is what I thought as well when I rode that first patrol. Little did I know then how I would not return home for more than a year with my family thinking I was lost forever. If not for the knowledge gained from my ancestor’s book I believe I would have been dead within six months of leaving on that first ranging.  
I force my mind back to the present and notice the sun as fully set. The torches are being lit as the guards make their rounds on the wall, nodding to me in deference as they pass. I hear the gate near me close as the people who had been practicing can no longer see enough to continue. My cloak is heavy and I am thankful for it as the chill of the darkness descends upon the town Sceapwich. I am lord of this town, as my father was before me and my children will be after I am gone. I am called lucky or crafty depending on whether you are my friend or my enemy. I am Eadwulf and this is my story.


End file.
